"Cold? No. Some one was walking over my grave, as they say. If we varied the entertainment with something stronger, we should get on faster, though."
"No," said Griggs. "I refuse to mix things. This may be the longer way, but it is the safer."
And he drank again.
"He was a man from Tivoli, or Subiaco," he remarked presently. "He spoke with that accent."
"I daresay," answered Dalrymple, who looked down into his glass at that moment, so that his face was in shadow.
Just then four men who had occupied a table near the door rose and went out. It was late, even for a night in Carnival.
"I hope they are not going to leave us all to ourselves," said Dalrymple. "The place will be shut up, and we need at least two hours more."
"At least," assented Paul Griggs. "But they expect to be open all night. I think there is time."
The men at the other tables showed no signs of moving. They sat quietly in their places, drinking steadily, by sips. Some of them were eating roasted chestnuts, and all were talking more or less in low tones. Occasionally one voice or another rose above the rest in an exclamation, but instantly subsided again. Italians of that class are rarely noisy, for though the Romans drink deep, they generally have strong heads, and would be ashamed of growing excited over their wine.
The air was heavy, for several men were smoking strong cigars. The vaulted chamber was lighted by a single large oil lamp with a reflector, hung by a cord from the intersection of the cross-arches. The floor was of glazed white tiles, and the single window had curtains of Turkey red. It was all very clean and respectable and well kept, even at that crowded season, but the air was heavy with wine and tobacco, and the smell of cooked food,—a peculiar atmosphere in which the old-fashioned Roman delighted to sit for hours on holidays.